For thirty years, I believed I was adopted, abandoned by parents who couldn’t keep me. But a trip to the orphanage shattered everything I thought I knew.
I was three years old the first time my dad told me I was adopted. We were sitting on the couch, and I had just finished building a tower out of brightly colored blocks. I imagine he smiled at me, but it was the kind of smile that didn’t reach his eyes.
A girl playing with building blocks | Source: Pexels
“Sweetheart,” he said, resting his hand on my shoulder. “There’s something you should know.”
I looked up, clutching my favorite stuffed rabbit. “What is it, Daddy?”
“Your real parents couldn’t take care of you,” he said, his voice soft but firm. “So your mom and I stepped in. We adopted you to give you a better life.”
“Real parents?” I asked, tilting my head.
A man playing with his daughter | Source: Pexels
He nodded. “Yes. But they loved you very much, even if they couldn’t keep you.”
I didn’t understand much, but the word “love” made me feel safe. “So you’re my daddy now?”
“That’s right,” he said. Then he hugged me, and I nestled into his chest, feeling like I belonged.
A man hugging his daughter | Source: Pexels
Six months later, my mom died in a car accident. I don’t remember much about her—just a blurry image of her smile, soft and warm, like sunshine on a chilly day. After that, it was just me and my dad.
At first, things weren’t so bad. Dad took care of me. He made peanut butter sandwiches for lunch and let me watch cartoons on Saturday mornings. But as I grew older, things started to change.
A man feeding his daughter | Source: Pexels
When I was six, I couldn’t figure out how to tie my shoes. I cried, frustrated, as I tugged at the laces.
Dad sighed loudly. “Maybe you got that stubbornness from your real parents,” he muttered under his breath.
“Stubborn?” I asked, blinking up at him.
“Just… figure it out,” he said, walking away.
A girl crying | Source: Pexels
He said things like that a lot. Anytime I struggled with school or made a mistake, he’d blame it on my “real parents.”
When I turned six, Dad hosted a barbecue in our backyard. I was excited because all the neighborhood kids were coming. I wanted to show them my new bike.
As the adults stood around talking and laughing, Dad raised his glass and said, “You know, we adopted her. Her real parents couldn’t handle the responsibility.”
A man talking to his family at a barbecue | Source: Midjourney
The laughter faded. I froze, holding my plate of chips.
One of the moms asked, “Oh, really? How sad.”
Dad nodded, taking a sip of his drink. “Yeah, but she’s lucky we took her in.”
The words sank like stones in my chest. The next day at school, the other kids whispered about me.
Two girls whispering | Source: Pexels
“Why didn’t your real parents want you?” one boy sneered.
“Are you gonna get sent back?” a girl giggled.
I ran home crying, hoping Dad would comfort me. But when I told him, he shrugged. “Kids will be kids,” he said. “You’ll get over it.”
A man shrugging | Source: Pexels
On my birthdays, Dad started taking me to visit a local orphanage. He’d park outside the building, point to the kids playing in the yard, and say, “See how lucky you are? They don’t have anyone.”
By the time I was a teenager, I dreaded my birthday.
A sad girl in her room | Source: Pexels
The idea that I wasn’t wanted followed me everywhere. In high school, I kept my head down and worked hard, hoping to prove I was worth keeping. But no matter what I did, I always felt like I wasn’t enough.
When I was 16, I finally asked Dad about my adoption.
A girl talking to her father | Source: Midjourney
“Can I see the papers?” I asked one night as we ate dinner.
He frowned, then left the table. A few minutes later, he came back with a folder. Inside, there was a single page—a certificate with my name, a date, and a seal.
“See? Proof,” he said, tapping the paper.
I stared at it, unsure of what to feel. It looked real enough, but something about it felt… incomplete.
A girl looking at documents in her hands | Source: Midjourney
Still, I didn’t ask any more questions.
Years later, when I met Matt, he saw through my walls right away.
“You don’t talk about your family much,” he said one night as we sat on the couch.
I shrugged. “There’s not much to say.”
A young couple watching TV together | Source: Pexels
But he didn’t let it go. Over time, I told him everything—the adoption, the teasing, the orphanage visits, and how I always felt like I didn’t belong.
“Have you ever thought about looking into your past?” he asked gently.
“No,” I said quickly. “Why would I? My dad already told me everything.”
“Are you sure?” he asked, his voice kind but steady. “What if there’s more to the story? Wouldn’t you want to know?”
A couple having a serious talk | Source: Pexels
I hesitated, my heart pounding. “I don’t know,” I whispered.
“Then let’s find out together,” he said, squeezing my hand.
For the first time, I considered it. What if there was more?
A woman deep in thought | Source: Pexels
The orphanage was smaller than I had imagined. Its brick walls were faded, and the playground equipment out front looked worn but still cared for. My palms were clammy as Matt parked the car.
“You ready?” he asked, turning to me with his steady, reassuring gaze.
“Not really,” I admitted, clutching my bag like a lifeline. “But I guess I have to be.”
A couple talking in a car | Source: Midjourney
We stepped inside, and the air smelled faintly of cleaning supplies and something sweet, like cookies. A woman with short gray hair and kind eyes greeted us from behind a wooden desk.
“Hi, how can I help you?” she asked, her smile warm.
I swallowed hard. “I… I was adopted from here when I was three years old. I’m trying to find more information about my biological parents.”
A woman standing at a desk in an orphanage | Source: Midjourney
“Of course,” she said, her brow furrowing slightly. “What’s your name and the date of your adoption?”
I gave her the details my dad had told me. She nodded and began typing into an old computer. The clacking of the keys seemed to echo in the quiet room.
Minutes passed. Her frown deepened. She tried again, flipping through a thick binder.
A woman looking through documents | Source: Pexels
Finally, she looked up, her expression apologetic. “I’m sorry, but we don’t have any records of you here. Are you sure this is the right orphanage?”
My stomach dropped. “What? But… this is where my dad said I was adopted from. I’ve been told that my whole life.”
Matt leaned forward and peeked into the papers. “Could there be a mistake? Maybe another orphanage in the area?”
A man looking through the documents | Source: Midjourney
She shook her head. “We keep very detailed records. If you were here, we would know. I’m so sorry.”
The room spun as her words sank in. My whole life suddenly felt like a lie.
The car ride home was heavy with silence. I stared out the window, my thoughts racing.
“Are you okay?” Matt asked softly, glancing at me.
A serious woman in a car | Source: Midjourney
“No,” I said, my voice trembling. “I need answers.”
“We’ll get them,” he said firmly. “Let’s talk to your dad. He owes you the truth.”
When we pulled up to my dad’s house, my heart pounded so loudly I could barely hear anything else. The porch light flickered as I knocked.
It took a moment, but the door opened. My dad stood there in his old plaid shirt, his face creased with surprise.
A man in a plaid shirt | Source: Midjourney
“Hey,” he said, his voice cautious. “What are you doing here?”
I didn’t bother with pleasantries. “We went to the orphanage,” I blurted out. “They don’t have any record of me. Why would they say that?”
His expression froze. For a long moment, he said nothing. Then he sighed heavily and stepped back. “Come in.”
A man talking to his daughter | Source: Midjourney
Matt and I followed him into the living room. He sank into his recliner, running a hand through his thinning hair.
“I knew this day would come,” he said quietly.
“What are you talking about?” I demanded, my voice breaking. “Why did you lie to me?”
An angry woman | Source: Pexels
He looked at the floor, his face shadowed with regret. “You weren’t adopted,” he said, his voice barely audible. “You’re your mother’s child… but not mine. She had an affair.”
The words hit me like a punch. “What?”
A sad middle-aged man | Source: Midjourney
“She cheated on me,” he said, his voice bitter. “When she got pregnant, she begged me to stay. I agreed, but I couldn’t look at you without seeing what she did to me. So I made up the adoption story.”
My hands trembled. “You lied to me for my entire life? Why would you do that?”
A confused shocked woman | Source: Pexels
“I don’t know,” he said, his shoulders slumping. “I was angry. Hurt. I thought… maybe if you believed you weren’t mine, it would be easier for me to handle. Maybe I wouldn’t hate her so much. It was stupid. I’m sorry.”
I blinked back tears, my voice shaking with disbelief. “You faked the papers?”
He nodded slowly. “I had a friend who worked in records. He owed me a favor. It wasn’t hard to make it look real.”
A sad man looking at his hands | Source: Midjourney
I couldn’t breathe. The teasing, the orphanage visits, the comments about my “real parents” wasn’t about me at all. It was his way of dealing with his pain.
“I was just a kid,” I whispered. “I didn’t deserve this.”
“I know,” he said, his voice breaking. “I know I failed you.”
A sad woman sitting in her kitchen | Source: Midjourney
I stood up, my legs shaky. “I can’t do this right now. Be sure that I will take care of you when the time comes. But I can’t stay,” I said, turning to Matt. “Let’s go.”
Matt nodded, his jaw tight as he glared at my father. “You’re coming with me,” he said softly.
As we walked out the door, my dad called after me. “I’m sorry! I really am!”
But I didn’t turn around.
A sad grieving woman | Source: Pexels
This work is inspired by real events and people, but it has been fictionalized for creative purposes. Names, characters, and details have been changed to protect privacy and enhance the narrative. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental and not intended by the author.
The author and publisher make no claims to the accuracy of events or the portrayal of characters and are not liable for any misinterpretation. This story is provided as “is,” and any opinions expressed are those of the characters and do not reflect the views of the author or publisher.
Actress Anne Heche Dead at 53 After High-Speed Car Crash
Anne Heche has died of a brain injury and severe burns after speeding and crashing her car into a home in the residential Mar Vista neighborhood last Friday, Aug 5. The building erupted in flames and Heche was dragged out of the vehicle and rushed to the Grossman Burn Center at West Hills Hospital in Los Angeles.
The 53-year-old, Emmy Award-winning actress is best known for her roles in 1990s films like Volcano, the Gus Van Sant remake of Psycho, Donnie Brasco and Six Days, Seven Nights.
Holly Baird, a spokesperson for Heche’s family, sent NPR a statement Friday afternoon saying: “While Anne is legally dead according to California law, her heart is still beating, and she has not been taken off life support.”
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Baird added an organ procurement company is working to see if the actress is a match for organ donation, and that determination could be made as early as Saturday or as late as next Tuesday.
Heche launched her career playing a pair of good and evil twins on the long-running daytime soap opera Another World, for which she earned a Daytime Emmy Award in 1991.
In the 2000s, Heche focused on making independent movies and TV series. She acted with Nicole Kidman and Cameron Bright in the drama Birth; with Jessica Lange and Christina Ricci in the film adaptation of Prozac Nation, Elizabeth Wurtzel’s bestselling book about depression; and in the comedy Cedar Rapids alongside John C. Reilly and Ed Helms. She also starred in the ABC drama series Men in Trees.
Heche made guest appearances on TV shows like Nip/Tuck and Ally McBeal and starred in a couple of Broadway productions, garnering a Tony Award nomination for her performance in the remount of the 1932 comedy Twentieth Century.
In 2020, Heche launched a weekly lifestyle podcast, Better Together, with friend and co-host Heather Duffy and appeared on Dancing with the Stars.
Heche became a lesbian icon as a result of her highly-visible relationship with comedian and TV host Ellen DeGeneres in the late 1990s.
Heche and DeGeneres were arguably the most famous openly gay couple in Hollywood at a time when being out was far less acceptable than it is today. Heche later claimed the romance took a toll on her career. “I was in a relationship with Ellen DeGeneres for three-and-a-half years and the stigma attached to that relationship was so bad that I was fired from my multimillion-dollar picture deal and I did not work in a studio picture for 10 years,” Heche said in an episode of Dancing with the Stars.
But the relationship paved the way for broader acceptance of single-sex partnerships.
“With so few role models and representations of lesbians in the late 1990s and early 2000s, Anne Heche’s relationship with Ellen DeGeneres contributed to her celebrity in a significant way and their relationship ultimately validated lesbian love for both straight and queer people,” said the Los Angeles-based New York Times columnist Trish Bendix.
Bendix said that while Heche was later in relationships with men — she married Coleman Laffoon in the early 2000s and they had a son together, and was more recently in a relationship with Canadian actor James Tupper with whom she also had a son — “her influence on lesbian and bisexual visibility can’t and shouldn’t be erased.”
In 2000, Fresh Air host Terry Gross interviewed Heche in advance of her directorial debut on the final episode of If These Walls Could Talk 2, a series of three HBO television films exploring the lives of lesbian couples starring DeGeneres and Sharon Stone. In the interview, Heche said she wished she had been more sensitive about other people’s coming out experiences when she and DeGeneres went public with their relationship.
“What I wish I would have known is more of the journey and the struggle of individuals in the gay community or couples in the gay community,” Heche said. “Because I would have couched my enthusiasm with an understanding that this isn’t everybody’s story.”
Heche was born in Aurora, Ohio in 1969, the youngest of five siblings. She was raised in a Christian fundamentalist household.
She had a challenging childhood. The family moved around a lot. She said she believed her father, Donald, was a closeted gay man; he died in 1983 of HIV.
“He just couldn’t seem to settle down into a normal job, which, of course, we found out later, and as I understand it now, was because he had another life,” Heche told Gross on Fresh Air. “He wanted to be with men.”
A few months after her father died, Heche’s brother Nathan was killed in a car crash at the age of 18.
In her 2001 Memoir Call Me Crazy, and in subsequent interviews, Heche said her father abused her sexually as a child, triggering mental health issues which the actress said she carried with her for decades as an adult.
In an interview with the actress for Larry King Live, host Larry King called Heche’s book, “one of the most honest, outspoken, extraordinary autobiographies ever written by anyone in show business.”
“I am left with a deep, wordless sadness,” wrote Heche’s son with Lafoon, Homer, in a statement shared with NPR via Baird. “Hopefully my mom is free from pain and beginning to explore what I like to imagine as her eternal freedom.”
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